<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Veritas Vos Liberabit by phoenixtales</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27891229">Veritas Vos Liberabit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixtales/pseuds/phoenixtales'>phoenixtales</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lucifer (TV), Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, family be rough sometimes, reader is lucifers sister technically but he raised her so ya know she calls him dad, reader is v much from lucifer, this is a crossover, we gonna slow burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:28:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,834</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27891229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixtales/pseuds/phoenixtales</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth will set you free.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/Reader, Sherlock Holmes/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the first time, you felt absolutely free.</p><p>Your father was in Los Angeles, far away from your newfound home in London. Well, temporary, you were sure.</p><p>While your freedom was certainly enjoyable, you felt a twinge of guilt for leaving your father without a proper goodbye. However, you knew if you said goodbye, he’d convince you to stay. He was always good at that sort of thing.</p><p>You loved him, you truly did, but he treated you like a child. Which, yes, compared to his age you were most definitely a child, but he was forgetting that you weren’t like him.</p><p>Well, not entirely like him at least.</p><p>Besides, London was giving you a chance to experience life like a normal person. You’d spent so many years hidden away from the world, you’d barely had time to actually live your life.</p><p>Your father told you it was for your safety, which was fair enough considering the amount of enemies he had, but you still needed to experience life while you could. You knew deep down your father wouldn’t understand, even if he tried.</p><p>You sighed, looking on the city with a sense of trepidation. You’d been living in Los Angeles for a while now, but you’d had your father with you. This time you were completely alone in one very large city.</p><p>You shook your head, facing the door next to the home you’d decided to rent. You lifted your hand to knock, but as you did somebody opened the door.</p><p>“You were taking too long,” the man stated, his eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down.</p><p>It was analytic, you could tell. Considering who your father was, you tended to attract stares everywhere you went, just as he did. Something he once said floated back into your mind.</p><p>“Humans tend to have an affinity for the divine. It’s… desirable.”</p><p>This was different though. He was scanning you, looking for answers by observing. It was unsettling, to say the least.</p><p>“Okay, um, hi.” You raised a brow.</p><p>“American?” He inquired, leaning in a titch more. He smelled all around your collarbone before stepping back.</p><p>“Something like that,” you muttered, “can you quit with the,” you gestured vaguely.</p><p>“Yes, right, what’s your case?” He asked, leaving the doorway to head up the stairs. Curiously, you followed him up.</p><p>“I don’t have one,” you replied, “I’m here for the apartment next door. I wanted to introduce myself.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, the new neighbor,” he said, “delightful.”</p><p>“Who are you bugging now, Sherlock?” A new voice questioned from the room just beyond the stairs.</p><p>“We’ve got a new neighbor,” Sherlock introduced, ushering you into the room.</p><p>It was a bit messy, but in a way you knew the inhabitants could easily navigate through it. The man that Sherlock was talking to was sitting in a chair, setting a paper aside so he could properly introduce himself.</p><p>You took notice of the damn blink that everybody did, usually right before they try to charm the wits off you. It was all too familiar, and annoyingly comforting in a weird way. It made you feel closer to your dad.</p><p>“Hi,” he breathed, “I’m John Watson.”</p><p>You smiled politely, holding your hand out for him to shake. He did so, though you noted that his touch lingered longer than acceptable.</p><p>“Right,” Sherlock drawled, watching his friend closely.</p><p>“I’m (Y/N),” you introduced yourself.</p><p>“You’re from America,” John concluded.</p><p>Once more, you let that tidbit of information slide by. If they wanted to believe you were from America, so be it. It was easier to explain than where you were actually from.</p><p>“I hope that’s not a problem,” you laughed awkwardly.</p><p>To be quite honest, there were still many things you felt entirely trivial about. One of those things just happened to include the rest of the world besides Los Angeles, considering you’d never been.</p><p>“Not at all,” John assured you with a friendly smile.</p><p>You let out a relieved sigh.</p><p>“Glad to hear,” you mumbled, looking from one occupant to the next. “I just figured I’d stop to say hi and, uh, if-“</p><p>“Why did you choose here?”</p><p>Sherlock interrupted you, still scrutinizing your every move. If you hadn’t been so taken off guard, you may have laughed.</p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p>“You’ve got a lot of money from your…” he leaned forward an inch, his eyes flicking down to your hand, then back to your face, “father. Could’ve had any flat in London and you chose here. Why?”</p><p>“Uh, I-“</p><p>“Nervous, but happy,” he paused thoughtfully, “running from home? First time outside of America. No, even more, first time outside of home. Where is it? A city, has to be. You’re fine wi-“</p><p>“Stop that.”</p><p>John was quick to stop Sherlock’s tirade, an apology in his expression and a hand on his friend’s shoulder that was meant to shut him up.</p><p>“Quite the mind reader,” you joked weakly, chuckling nervously. For your sake, you seriously hoped he wasn’t. Humans couldn’t be, but you could never be too sure on what creatures lurked about, especially outside of the comfortable corner of the world your father carved out for you.</p><p>“Observation,” he corrected, and you nearly breathed a sigh of relief before deciding that doing so would be far too suspicious.</p><p>“He’s quite good at it, and won’t let you forget it anytime soon.”</p><p>You smiled politely to John. Of the two, he was the more familiar one. You had met so many different kinds of people during your stay in Los Angeles, and none had been able to pick apart your character by way of observation.</p><p>“I’m from Los Angeles,” you supplied.</p><p>Sherlock clicked his tongue, as if that had been one of the cities he’d narrowed the list to. Basing his ability solely off of the brief interaction you’ve had with him thus far, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was.</p><p>“I’m not running from home, exactly.” You shrugged, a half smile on your lips. “I am an adult anyways, not like it’s illegal. I just wanted to see more of the world, explore life outside of home.”</p><p>Sherlock hummed to himself, like he was trying to piece you together and he had managed to click that extra bit of information into a slot. John, on the other hand, seemed to find your response endearing.</p><p>Unlike Sherlock, he wasn’t analyzing your every word and move. He was taking what you said at face value, and empathizing with your story. </p><p>“Never been to Los Angeles myself,” John cleared his throat, hoping to continue the small talk.</p><p>“You should, it’s an interesting city,” you offered a genuine smile, ignoring the twinge of longing. You really did love Los Angeles, and being away from home hurt just as badly as it felt good. “If you ever do find yourself there, stop by Lux. My father owns it.”</p><p>“So I was right,” Sherlock muttered, “rich family. Old money or new?”</p><p>Your expression turned to something decidedly mischievous.</p><p>“To be quite honest, my family has never really needed money.”</p><p>If Sherlock was confused by your statement, he made no effort to show it. The brief furrow of John’s brow was the only evidence you’d even spoken your words aloud.</p><p>“Anyways, I just wanted to introduce myself. My door is always open if you need it.”</p><p>“Likewise,” John said kindly, a soft twinkle in his gaze. The exchange was interrupted by Sherlock’s annoyed huff.</p><p>“Oh, don’t be ridiculous John, the door is locked quite often. As should yours, London can be a rather dangerous place.”</p><p>“Unfortunately for London, so can I,” you joked lightly, tugging at the chain around your neck. It had become something of a reminder of home.</p><p>On it was a gift from your father, something to carry with you so you can always remember him. A promise, really.</p><p>See, Lucifer wasn’t your father in the biblical sense. (The irony.) He raised you, but you were, by all rights, his baby sister. (Emphasis on baby, you’d only been kicking for 22 years.) Instead of being raised in the Silver City, you had been left at the gates of Hell, without a word of explanation. While Lucifer hadn’t asked, nor wanted, the newfound paternal responsibility, he assumed the role with minimal complaints.</p><p>If you were being honest, he was an amazing father. He had allowed you to flourish and be the person you wanted to be, not the vision he had for you. However, he had a tendency to be overzealous and project his fears onto you. He was worried the whole world was against him, and if he weren’t there to protect you, then you’d be taken from him.</p><p>The concept seemed ridiculous to you, considering you were 22 years old and had never had so much as a scraped knee, but he was adamant. Thus, the only way to escape his watchful eye and truly experience life- if only for a little while- was to leave.</p><p>“I can give you my number,” John suggested, quickly backtracking as soon as he realized what his words implied. “If you- I mean, so you can let me know if you need anything.”</p><p>Your smile was wide as you handed him your phone. Truth be told, outside of the few close confidants you had in Los Angeles, there were few people you’d had the chance to really get to know. John and Sherlock seemed like nice enough people, and they were going to be your neighbors for the time being.</p><p>He typed his number in quickly, as Sherlock watched the interaction curiously. There was something in the way he observed that had you smiling. The staring was familiar territory, but the intent was different.</p><p>“I suppose,” John began, handing you back your phone with the utmost care.</p><p>He exchanged a glance with his roommate before rocking on his feet.</p><p>“We work odd jobs so there may be some noises…”</p><p>You quirked an amused brow. They seemed a fair bit more interesting than you were expecting. You waved off his worry.</p><p>“I survived living with my father for as long as I did, I promise it can’t get any weirder or noisier than that.”</p><p>The look John gave you made you think he definitely thought it could, but he didn’t voice any more concerns. Instead, he gave you a gentle goodbye and walked you back to the door of your actual apartment. Sherlock hadn’t bothered to come, even though you were almost hoping he would.</p><p>There was something peculiar about him, and you wished to have more time to evaluate just what that was, but in the meantime you were left alone to your devices.</p><p>Once John had left, you found yourself leaning back against the door to look at the bare interior of your new home. The thumping of your heart slowed to a near standstill as you took in the wooden floors and the brick walls. It wasn’t overly fancy, like what your father owned, but it was yours. (Well, you were renting it, but the fact still remained.)</p><p>Tears filled your eyes, and you couldn’t quite understand why. The aching in your chest was rivaled by the freedom in your veins. You’d never really had the opportunity to answer the question of who you were. It’d always been what your father thought best, or what you could do to help him. Now, nobody would tell you what to do, or how to decorate your new apartment, or who you could befriend. However, your father wouldn’t be there to tell you everything would be okay, or remind you how very important you were to him, or how capable you were. </p><p>Freedom had never tasted so bittersweet.</p><p>“Decorating tomorrow,” you told the empty space, a small smile on your lips.</p><p>For tonight, you’d continue to be the person who left your home in Los Angeles to start over in London. You’d be the one who ran from home to discover a life out from under the man who had raised you.</p><p>Tomorrow, though, you’d finally start the journey of figuring out who you were.</p><p>It’d start with furniture. Then a job maybe, some friends, a hobby…</p><p>The options were endless, and you found yourself buzzing with the opportunity to discover what would make you happy.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Sherlock was being honest, the free minutes of thought between the few rapidfire cases in the past week had all turned to you.</p><p>You were a walking contradiction. Everything you said- did, even- pointed to a million and one different options of who you were. He was trying his damndest to figure you out, like he had for everyone else, but he just couldn’t.</p><p>John and Mrs. Hudson had taken to you quickly, like you were a saint there to bless their lives, but Sherlock couldn’t shake his suspicions. You seemed innocent enough. The way you talked about people, like you actually cared.</p><p>There was something he was missing though.</p><p>And he was far too cautious to think that you were sincere.</p><p>Thus, while John was more than happy to accept the dinner invitation you extended to them exactly seven days after you officially moved in, Sherlock saw it as an opportunity to learn more.</p><p>Sherlock sniffed the air, taking note of a new fragrance. He furrowed his brows, watching as John brushed invisible dirt from the shoulders of his freshly pressed shirt.</p><p>“Is that a new cologne?” He asked, not waiting for John’s confirmation.</p><p>The man in question stuck close behind Sherlock as he made his way out of the door. Mrs. Hudson was waiting at the bottom of the stairs looking particularly pleased with herself. She, too, was dressed a fair bit nicer than normal, and sporting a bolder shade of lipstick than she normally did.</p><p>“A new shade?” He muttered, “What is wrong with you two?”</p><p>“Oh Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson waved him off with an eye roll, “She’s a nice young woman, we’re just trying to make a good impression.”</p><p>John nodded a little too enthusiastically for Sherlock’s liking. If you were trying to wrap the occupants of 221B Baker Street around your finger, you were going to have to do a lot more.</p><p>“Right,” he cleared his throat, “On we go then.”</p><p>Mrs. Hudson and John were far too eager to scurry towards your door, reeling in their excitement to knock a few times. He really didn’t understand it. As far as he knew, you had only interacted with Mrs. Hudson and John three and four times, respectively. They were never exceedingly long interactions, and besides your ‘friendly’ attitude, it wasn’t like you’d been particularly serviceable.</p><p>So why did they like you so much?</p><p>As if on queue, you opened the door to your freshly furnished flat. The sudden exposure to a million different deductions filled his mind.</p><p>You were dressed nice, not over the top though. Despite the outfit not being too flashy, it still spoke of money. Considering the newspapers and many tabs open on your laptop, which were all messily placed on your coffee table behind you, you were still looking for a job.</p><p>Odd, that. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what kind of job you were looking for, or what your qualifications were.</p><p>The light smattering of makeup on your face and the relative neatness of your hair suggested a certain amount of effort being put into your appearance, though the flyaways and minimal smudging showed it had been done hours ago.</p><p>The furniture you decorated your flat with displayed an evident love of history and antiques, however the various books aligning the shelves of your living room didn’t really confirm the initial deduction. The necklace you seemed to be overly attached to might, as it was either a family heirloom or something particularly sentimental between you and your father. You kept it out of sight though, and the intelligent spark behind your eyes told him you’d more than caught on to his line of thinking.</p><p>“Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” you greeted them with a wide smile, opening the door even further in greeting.</p><p>“Just John is fine,” he assured you, then nudged Sherlock, “and he prefers Sherlock, otherwise people will start mistaking him for his brother.”</p><p>Sherlock shuddered at that particular thought, sneaking in behind his friends to get a better view of the place. It was organized and clean, far different from his own space, though a few particular areas seemed to be assembled in a hurry. More than likely, you were a clean person without a good sense of time. </p><p>“It smells delicious, dear,” Mrs. Hudson gushed, quick to find her seat at the table.</p><p>You had cooked a big dinner, far more than just the four of you could eat, but he felt as if that was intended. There was a wide spread of food, from pasta dishes to a full glazed ham. Cooking may have been a hobby, but the state of your kitchen paired with the frazzled expression as you did a once over to ensure it all looked good made him second guess that. Perhaps you were just trying to learn?</p><p>Curious, it seemed you were doing that with practically everything.</p><p>“Have you been cooking all day?” John laughed, looking at the dishes before him like he hadn’t been fed in a month.</p><p>To be fair, he either cooked- which he wasn’t even close to good at- or ordered takeout. Home cooked meals were a rarity at 221B Baker Street. </p><p>“Basically, yeah,” you smiled, gesturing so that the three of them began to help themselves.</p><p>Sherlock was quick to take the seat opposite you, and while he certainly didn’t turn down the opportunity to have some of the food you so graciously provided, he was more focused on you.</p><p>“I love the decorating you’ve done,” Mrs. Hudson commented, cutting Sherlock off before he had a chance to begin his interrogation.</p><p>He scowled momentarily as you thanked her, still all smiles and twinkling eyes. He didn’t understand how you could look so happy and positive, especially when he knew you were hiding something.</p><p>“Lucifer Morningstar,” Sherlock finally said, narrowing his eyes as he waited for your reaction.</p><p>You didn’t look particularly put out by it. In fact, the corner of your lips turned up even more, and he saw a hint of affection on your face.</p><p>“That’s my dad, yeah,” you nodded, taking a bite of your meal. “You’ve been doing some research.”</p><p>John flicked his gaze between you and then Sherlock, trying to interrupt before the latter began, but failing miserably as he took control of the silence.</p><p>“Colorful moniker, that.”</p><p>“Unfortunately, it’s his god-given name.” There was a certain amusement about you, clearly a joke he was missing.</p><p>“Poor man,” Mrs. Hudson commented regretfully, almost imagining as if she spent her life with the name of the Devil.</p><p>“Family’s not particularly religious,” Sherlock noted quietly, though you clearly heard him. He ignored the swift kick John sent his way under the table.</p><p>“Actually, they’re more religious than most,” you corrected.</p><p>Again, you seemed entirely genuine. Sherlock nearly growled. How did you not follow the normal patterns? Every human followed the normal patterns.</p><p>“And I thought Sherlock’s parents came up with funny names,” John joked, hoping to pull the conversation back to safe territory. </p><p>You went to reply, but stopped short when Sherlock was quick to speak up.</p><p>“Why Lucifer then?”</p><p>There was a twinkle in your gaze, and he found it absolutely frustrating, but entirely fascinating that he just couldn’t read you.</p><p>“Maybe the Devil is more than we think,” you countered, shrugging. </p><p>John let the silence permeate for less than a moment before he picked up the conversation, ever eager to retain a particular amount of sensibility and cordiality. </p><p>“What about your mother?” He inquired, though it wasn’t in the same regard as Sherlock. He asked more out of an interest to know more about your life, and not like you were a puzzle to solve.</p><p>“Oh,” you weren’t really grabbing anything with your fork, more like using it as a way to keep your hands occupied. “Well, Lucifer Morningstar,” you shot a quick smirk to Sherlock, “isn’t my actual father. He sort of adopted me.”</p><p>Adoption hadn’t crossed Sherlock’s mind, but now that you’d brought it up he was beginning to make a few more deductions. Still, none seemed quite fitting for you. A brief flick of his glance in the general direction of both Mrs. Hudson and John confirmed that it was just you, and not his own mind beginning to malfunction.</p><p>“I’m glad he did so,” Mrs. Hudson proclaimed, a wide smile on her lips as she took a large sip of one of the many wines you’d left out for your guests.</p><p>“Didn’t have much of a choice, I suppose,” you laughed softly, a sound Sherlock found most peculiar. It sounded so gentle and melodic, like you were expressing exactly what you felt- nothing more, nothing less. “He’s my older brother, actually.”</p><p>“Christmas dinner must get complicated,” John teased goodnaturedly.</p><p>Sherlock could see that his two companions were very much indeed falling for your charms and grace. They wanted your attention, and actively seeked out your smile. It’s like you had pulled them to your side so quickly. </p><p>“We don’t really celebrate Christmas,” you admitted, a sheepish smile.</p><p>Sherlock, finally at a point he could no longer hold in his frustration, let it be known to the entire table.</p><p>“You don’t make any sense.”</p><p>It was a simple enough exclamation, one that he uttered in a voice that was tinged with a seething anger. His eyes were narrowed and pinning you to the spot.</p><p>“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson murmured apologetically.</p><p>You paused, furrowing your brow like you couldn’t quite work out where his frustration was coming from. There was a hint of hurt, and it spurred his anger on even more.</p><p>“You’re hiding something.”</p><p>Once more, Sherlock pushed. He needed to know what it was he was missing. It was just out of reach, and if he could just dig a little further, the mystery could be solved.</p><p>“Sherlock,” John hissed, dropping his fork with a loud clang.</p><p>“Oh come off it,” Sherlock argued, pushing his chair back and resting his hands on his chin. “It’s obvious you’re running from your old life because you were unhappy, hm? Were they abusive? Or maybe you’ve just grown bored of the easy, spoiled lifestyle? So you come here, of all places, and just happen to move right next door to me? I don’t believe-”</p><p>“Sherlock, enough,” John had moved from his seat at some point during his monologue, and had grabbed a hold of Sherlock’s arm. He was pulling him up with more force than normal.</p><p>Being the more reasonable of the two, John was profusely apologizing for his friend’s behavior. Mrs. Hudson was thanking you for your hospitality, as well as the meal, as she led the small group out of your apartment, hoping to spare you the torment of Sherlock’s unwavering gaze.</p><p>By the time he’d been pulled to the door, Sherlock had managed to brush John off, sending one more glare in your direction.</p><p>“Who are you?”</p><p>You had barely moved from your spot, taken by complete surprise by the turn of events. Whatever you’d been expecting, it hadn’t been what was happening. Seeming to shake yourself out of the momentary confusion, you turned to the three you had hoped to begin a friendship with.</p><p>“I’m trying to figure that out myself,” you admitted quietly, almost to yourself.</p><p>Sherlock hadn’t expected that.</p><p>Nor had he expected the sad, faraway look in your eyes.</p><p>You looked so small then, and fragile, like the world was a big, scary place and you had no idea how to navigate it all alone.</p><p>Regret filled the air as John uttered one last goodbye before closing the door in an attempt to stop Sherlock from doing anymore damage. It wasn’t necessary though, as the consulting detective realized, though far too late, that his interrogation wasn’t needed.</p><p>You were a mystery, yes, but not because you were some massive threat placed precariously there to strike when Sherlock least expected. Rather, you were someone who genuinely didn’t know exactly who you were yet.</p><p>John’s angry rant went ignored.</p><p>Mrs. Hudson’s sad exclamations weren’t even given a proper listen.</p><p>Sherlock went directly to his room, and upon trying to sleep, found all he could see was your eyes and the sadness that permeated so deep it was like a root in your soul.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You had been thinking on Sherlock’s deductions.</p>
<p>Not intentionally, mind you. Rather, you couldn’t get them out of your head.</p>
<p>More than that, though, you were stuck on his question. The past week and a half since you moved to London had been spent trying, and failing, to find something you were passionate about. You wanted to help people, to be someone that did good in the world.</p>
<p>Instead, you were stuck pacing your apartment with your curly-haired neighbor stubbornly refusing to leave your thoughts.</p>
<p>Three days prior, you’d invited him, along with Mrs. Hudson and John, over for dinner in the hopes that you could make friends with them. Instead, he’d interrogated you the entire time. Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself to dislike them. They were a bit odd, but you were a friggin angel living in London after you ran from your adoptive father, who was actually your brother, who just so happened to be the Devil.</p>
<p>So, on the odd meter of your life, they barely passed an LA morning. </p>
<p>The shrill ring of your phone interrupted your inner monologue, bringing a frown to your face as you read the name.</p>
<p>
  <i>Not Today, Satan.</i>
</p>
<p>There was a little devil emoji by the contact name you’d chosen for your father the day you discovered the long string of memes regarding that particular phrase.</p>
<p>You knew it wasn’t fair to ignore his call, as you had been doing since you left LA, but you still needed time to acclimate. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Truthfully, you were afraid. Your father had kept you with him in Hell until he decided he wanted to take a little vacation to Earth. It wasn’t like you’d never been apart from him, but he had never been this far away, and you’d never so blatantly ignored him.</p>
<p>Three texts from him lit up your phone immediately following the ignored call. Another buzzed a second later, though this one was from the contact rightly labeled <i>Nancy Drew</i>.</p>
<p>Knowing your father wasn’t always the easiest to deal with at the best of times, you opened Chloe’s text instead.</p>
<p><b>Nancy Drew:</b> <i>Just checking in. Lucifer is worried sick, let him know you’re okay. I know he’s overbearing at times, but he cares about you.</i></p>
<p>A smile tugged at your lips. Whether your father was ready to admit it or not, Chloe was good for him. She was so very human in all of the best ways, and was genuinely good. He’d known her for the whole of just over a year and already she was positively influencing him.</p>
<p>Realizing it was unavoidable, you opened your father’s texts as you walked to the door. You just had to reply, then you could get all of the fresh air you could need. Maybe, you’d ask John if he wanted to go for a walk too. You could really use the help navigating the streets.</p>
<p><b>Not Today, Satan:</b> <i>What’s the bloody point of having a phone if you never answer it?</i></p>
<p><b>Not Today, Satan:</b> <i>It’s been over a week. Why are you in London?</i></p>
<p><b>Not Today, Satan:</b> <i>If you don’t answer, you’ll be Maze’s next bounty. She doesn’t play nice.</i></p>
<p>An eye roll was inevitable. He really didn’t know how to speak to you like you were normal. Which, yeah, you weren’t, but still, it would be nice to have a good family dynamic at some point in your life.</p>
<p><b>Y/N:</b> <i>Spending some time away. I’ll be back eventually.</i></p>
<p>Your reply was quick and offered very little in the information department. It didn’t seem to satisfy Lucifer, as a series of dings signaled his many replies. You didn’t bother looking at them, pocketing your phone and exiting your new apartment.</p>
<p>At first, you made your way down the street, before reconsidering the idea of being alone. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to ask John.</p>
<p>A short bit of backtracking brought you to 221B Baker Street, only for you to be momentarily surprised at the lack of a closed door. When John mentioned his door was always open for you, you were expecting support, not an actual opened door. For a moment, you debated on whether you should enter. Curiosity eventually got the best of you, especially when hushed voices descended the familiar steps.</p>
<p>Something wasn’t quite right, and the feeling had your back straightening. Your wings fluttered from their position, still hidden to the eyes of others. The conversation that took place above you was tense, and you found yourself holding your breath and placing one foot cautiously in front of the other.</p>
<p>You were slow to climb the stairs, which seemed far larger than normal. As the scene came into view, you noticed that Sherlock looked far too confident for a very human man with a gun pointed at his head. John, on the other hand, was barely keeping a lid on his boiling anger. The gunman’s back was to you, though he was far closer to your position than either of the men occupying the room.</p>
<p>One misplaced step was all it took before a creak, which would otherwise be barely noticeable, but to the quiet of the room sounded more like a gunshot, resonated throughout the inhabitants. Sherlock and John didn’t move an inch, but their eyes moved to you immediately. The gunman was quick, far quicker than you were expecting, and had set his sights on you.</p>
<p>You blinked, shooting the two Baker residents a sheepish smile.</p>
<p>“I, uh, was going to ask if you could be my tour guide for a bit, John, but it seems you’ve got your hands full.”</p>
<p>John’s responding chuckle was tense.</p>
<p>“Your timing is impeccable,” Sherlock commented dryly.</p>
<p>Sighing to yourself, you took a step towards the gunman, only to stop briefly when he shoved the gun even closer, as if to emphasize the weapon in his hand.</p>
<p>“Stop moving!” He warned.</p>
<p>You ran your tongue along your teeth, examining the man from top to bottom. He looked collected, like he was professionally trained, though there was a hint of something manic in his eyes. His hands didn’t shake, so clearly he had killed before, and doing so again wasn’t a bother for him. A fresh pressed suit adorned his body, and by the looks of it, the sudden intrusion on John and Sherlock hadn’t been planned initially. They must’ve done something to piss him off.</p>
<p>“You don’t want to kill me,” you told him, flashing that sultry smile that oozed of a devilish charm you most certainly possessed.</p>
<p>“You don’t know that,” he countered, his eyes narrowing a fraction.</p>
<p>Briefly, you flicked your gaze to John, and then to Sherlock, hoping that you were relaying a message of pure confidence.</p>
<p>“You’re right,” you conceded, taking a tense step. “So tell me then, what is it you truly desire?”</p>
<p>The question bounced around in his mind, the power of the divine wrestling with the promise of free will in his expression, until eventually, divinity won out.</p>
<p>“I…”</p>
<p>He licked his lips.</p>
<p>“I want to be rich… to have whatever I could ever hope for.”</p>
<p>His eyes glazed over as you chanced a few more steps, closing in on his position.</p>
<p>“Greed, then,” you conversed, just barely out of reach. If you could just move forward another step, you could snatch his gun. “Of course it’s greed.”</p>
<p>“Money is power,” he insisted, so focused on his own musings he didn’t take notice of your new location.</p>
<p>“No,” you argued, just registering the brief flicker of surprise as you wrestled the gun out of his unsuspecting hands. You turned it on him, just as quickly, clicking your tongue when he tried to lunge forward. “Power is power.”</p>
<p>Whatever retort he’d been about to say was cut short when John swung his fist at him, knocking him out cold with a force to his temple.</p>
<p>“You’re not even frightened,” Sherlock observed, sparing the man on the ground barely a glance before his eyes found you again. Between the two, he found you infinitely more intriguing. “It’s not the first time you’ve had a gun pointed at you.”</p>
<p>John stepped away for just a moment, grumbling about phoning the police while he did so. You’d smiled pleasantly at him before turning your attention to his roommate.</p>
<p>“You’re not the only civilian consultant in the world, you know?”</p>
<p>He didn’t outwardly express anything at your statement, but you’d gotten considerably good at picking up on the smallest changes in expressions, and there was a curiosity growing in the man.</p>
<p>“My father helps an LAPD detective on her cases,” you explained.</p>
<p>Speak of the devil…</p>
<p>Your phone dinged again, and you didn’t even have to check to know it was your father once more. Probably using Maze to threaten you again. You wondered idly how long it would take him to realize that Maze was, and had been since you were a baby, utterly wrapped around your finger. You were her protege, in a way, and she’d been a close confidant. For all of his efforts spent on reminding you how scary she could be, Mazikeen would never hurt you.</p>
<p>“He’s also had people wanting to kill him since the dawn of time,” you shrugged, adding a gentle “literally” under your breath.</p>
<p>“What was that?” John had returned, and was gesturing vaguely to the area around your face. “With the ‘desire’ stuff?”</p>
<p>“An old trick,” you waved it off, not wanting to, nor knowing how to, explain it any further. John wasn’t satisfied by your answer, and he was fully intent on getting more of an explanation before Sherlock interrupted him.</p>
<p>“You are entirely unexpected,” he claimed, his eyes moving rapidly about your character, looking for some sort of answer only he could see.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, I was here for John, actually.”</p>
<p>The man in question perked up, taking a step towards you. Clearly, he wasn’t going to let what just happened go so quickly, but he was also wondering what you could’ve possibly needed him for.</p>
<p>“You were?”</p>
<p>“I was hoping you could show me around,” you shrugged, rocking on your heels.</p>
<p>“I can-” he cleared his throat, and in the distance you heard police sirens racing towards your location. “Yeah, I can do that.”</p>
<p>“It’s settled then,” Sherlock smiled, clapping his hands together. There was a certain flatness to it, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re going for a little tour.”</p>
<p>“Not what I was going for,” you muttered, shooting a look at the man still slumped over on the ground. </p>
<p>“The police will be here in one and a half- no, two- minutes,” Sherlock informed you distractedly, slipping on his dark coat with practised ease. “They’re getting slow.”</p>
<p>“Back to insulting, are we?” John grumbled under his breath, keeping a close watch on the man on the floor. It was clear, despite the aggressive hit he’d placed on the recent invader, he was still worried about him waking back up and going on the attack once more.</p>
<p>“Might as well help them, then,” you suggested, noting the tension John sported as you leaned down towards the unconscious man. Though he didn’t make moves to stop you, he did move in closer, to intervene should a situation arise.</p>
<p>“Maybe you shou-”</p>
<p>John stopped his sentence halfway through when you hoisted the man over your shoulder as if he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Even Sherlock looked perplexed at your lack of struggling. To be fair, you didn’t look like you could sling a man his size with no issue. </p>
<p>“I’m just bringing him to the door,” you told them, hiding a smirk at their astonishment. So maybe you had inherited the need for theatrics from Lucifer. </p>
<p>“Sure you don’t need any,” John paused, his mouth open as he watched you jog down the steps without any problems.</p>
<p>“Help,” he finished lamely, sharing a look with Sherlock.</p>
<p>At first, he thought Sherlock’s confusion with you stemmed from some hidden attraction his friend couldn’t understand. Now, though, he could see the merit of it. There were definitely some oddities about you.</p>
<p>“This your guy?” You called back up to the two men who had still yet to move. They were frozen in a state somewhere between confusion and awe.</p>
<p>That pulled Sherlock out of the stupor, and subsequently drew John down the stairs too. You were just standing there, your head vaguely gesturing towards the police car coming to a sudden stop outside. Sherlock couldn’t help the little laugh that crawled up his throat at the sight of someone of your stature carrying someone of this man’s stature with such ease.</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah,” John answered when Sherlock was clearly not going to. “That’s Lestrade.”</p>
<p>The Detective Inspector was making his way towards where you stood, doing a comical double take when he noticed the man balanced precariously over your shoulder.</p>
<p>“Cavalry’s here,” the silver-haired detective muttered, laughing to himself. “You must be the new neighbor?”</p>
<p>It was a question directed towards you, despite his eyes still stuck on the man you were holding.</p>
<p>“(Y/N),” you introduced, “Morningstar. I’m guessing this is the person you’re looking for.”</p>
<p>“Uh,” he coughed awkwardly, his eyes stuck on you.</p>
<p>There it was again, that little flicker of desire- the allure of divinity. You breathed out a sigh, walking the man to the so-dubbed ‘Lestrade’s’ car. He was quick to follow you, opening the door and slapping cuffs on the unconscious man in one fell swoop. He shut the gunman in, still looking a bit dazed from your initial meeting as he did so.</p>
<p>“Talk about an exciting morning,” you enthused, running your tongue along your teeth when you felt the telltale vibration of a notification.</p>
<p>“You’ve been ignoring your text messages,” Sherlock commented, a challenging brow raised.</p>
<p>“I’ve been busy,” you shot back, turning to face the Detective Inspector. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”</p>
<p>His eyes widened, and he briefly held a hand to his chest, as if to ask if you were speaking to him.</p>
<p>“I’m Greg,” he smiled then caught himself. “Greg Lestrade, the Detective Inspector.”</p>
<p>Each word was released quicker than the last, like he couldn’t believe he had let his introduction go unsaid in the first place. Your replying smirk was genuine, a friendly answer to his words.</p>
<p>“Don’t you have an arrest to make?” Sherlock cut in, startling you. Was being rude a personality trait? Because he certainly had it down.</p>
<p>“Always a pleasure seeing you,” Greg drawled sarcastically, though the eye roll was done goodnaturedly. “It was nice meeting you, (Y/N) Morningstar.”</p>
<p>You nodded, giving him a friendly wave. He didn’t linger long, returning to his car quickly to arrest the man in the back without so much as a question of how he came to be like that. Clearly, he’d dealt with Sherlock for quite some time.</p>
<p>“The tour,” Sherlock reminded you, surprisingly pleasantly. “Shall we?”</p>
<p>John shrugged, an expression that told you just to go with it, as he always had. At the very least, you didn’t have anything to lose.</p>
<p>And-</p>
<p>Another text came through.</p>
<p>Everything to ignore, apparently.</p>
<p>“We shall,” you nodded, letting him lead the way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You still haven’t explained,” John reminded you, pulling you from the staring match you were having with your phone.</p><p>You flicked your gaze towards him, stopping yourself from reading anymore texts. Lucifer was relentless, jumping from asking you to come home, to threatening sending Amenadiel after you.</p><p>“Hmm?” You hummed gracelessly, before realizing he was most definitely referring to your mojo. “Oh, just a little trick I learned from my dad.”</p><p>He didn’t really look like he was buying it, so you sent him an amused smirk. Deciding that presentation was better than explanation, you slowed him to a stop. Ever curious, Sherlock watched tentatively as you made eye contact with John.</p><p>“What is it you truly desire?” You inquired, that brief flicker of connection to your divinity sparking something inside. Your fingers tingled, air alight with a power you’d never had the opportunity to tap into.</p><p>“Uh,” John blinked a couple of times, “I…”</p><p>Sherlock was staring at his friend, brows furrowed as he saw the man at war within his own mind.</p><p>“I want to feel happy again.”</p><p>The smirk on your lips faded to a thoughtful smile. Humans were interesting creatures to you, but not in the same way they were to your father. He reveled in their sins, and believed in their corruption. You, however, were inspired by their flaws. Emotions were at the very core of their being, and it was a beautiful melody you would never tire of.</p><p>Sherlock looked to be torn between wonder and annoyance. John, however, shook his head, furrowing his brows in your direction.</p><p>“I couldn’t stop myself,” he explained slowly, trying to piece together exactly why that was in his mind. “No matter how hard I tried.”</p><p>You tilted your head to the side, just observing him. Confusion was evident, though he didn’t look upset by what he’d said, or embarrassed.</p><p>“Some sort of psychological trick,” Sherlock muttered to himself, pulling your attention to him.</p><p>John seemed ready to chalk it up to magic, while Sherlock was skeptical at best.</p><p>“Enough of that,” you exclaimed, “I was promised a tour! It’s already so different from Los Angeles.”</p><p>And just like that, John was back to the charming, kind host. Sherlock was inquisitive, but quiet. He kept a close watch on you, and offered brief explanations to some of your questions, but otherwise remained vigilant.</p><p>Every step you took was cataloged, along with each expression that crossed your face. Despite it, you didn’t let his quirky nature detract from the time you were having.</p><p>“Is it your dad,” John finally asked after one too many alerts from your phone. (Seriously, did Lucifer really not have anything better to do?) “That you’re ignoring, I mean.”</p><p>“Of course it is,” Sherlock interjected, looking for all the world like it was the most obvious assumption.</p><p>Instead of getting upset at his interruption, you found your lips turning up in a smile. He was rather fascinating, if not a little intrusive.</p><p>“I left without saying goodbye,” you admitted a little forlornly, nervously fiddling with your phone. There were moments when you felt that you absolutely made the best decision, but doubt wouldn’t leave you alone.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>John didn’t sound judgemental, nor did he sound pushy. To you, he just sounded worried almost, like someone who knew the importance of close bonds and didn’t want you severing one without good purpose. </p><p>“I love him,” you were quick to defend your own actions. Of the two, John was the only one who seemed comforting. “But I need to be away from him. He was so worried about keeping me safe that he’d suffocated me.”</p><p>There was a hint of sympathy on John’s features. Even if he didn’t understand the full extent of your story, he did know a thing or two about family troubles. Perhaps having a confidant in him would help to soothe the growing loneliness in your family’s absence.</p><p>Silence reigned supreme over the three of you as you continued your walk. John was casting an occasional concerned glance to you. You were lost in the buildings and architecture that spread from the ground to the sky. And Sherlock, well, he was too busy connecting dots you’d thrown around with each word. Still, he couldn’t quite picture it all. There was something more to you than what he was able to uncover, though what it was he couldn’t be sure.</p><p>It wasn’t until a few minutes more that your feet stopped on their own accord. Your eyes, wide and full of sadness, scaled the stone steeple that stood proudly at a height far above the other buildings. There wasn’t much foot traffic moving in and out of the building, but a soft ringing called to you nonetheless.</p><p>You cleared your throat, dragging your teary gaze from the stained glass to your walking partners.</p><p>“I need a couple of minutes, do you mind if…”</p><p>John caught on immediately, quick to pull his friend out of the line of questioning he looked about ready to go into.</p><p>“I’ll grab us a bite to eat,” he assured you, practically dragging Sherlock away as you ascended the stairs into the church.</p><p>The air was buzzing with an energy you couldn’t recognize. The room was dark, and nearly empty. Something propelled you forward, bringing you to a stop at one of the pews in the back. You’d only ever been to a church once before. For obvious reasons, your father wasn’t the biggest fan.</p><p>Lucifer wasn’t the biggest fan.</p><p>But, then again, he wasn’t your real father.</p><p>You sucked a breath in, staring forward at the cross that stood proudly at the very center of the stage. Unlike the rest of your siblings, you had never actually met your father. As much as you tried to act like it didn’t bother you, deep down it did. Why had he handed you off to Lucifer? Why were you forced to spend your days in Hell when the rest of your family was acquainted with the Silver City.</p><p>You dropped your head into your hands, breaking your wandering gaze.</p><p>“Dad,” you breathed, your voice shaky.</p><p>“Why did you do this?” You asked into the silence, your voice nearly imperceptible to the people around you. “Why am I here? Why did you send me to Hell?”</p><p>There was no answer.</p><p>Not that you expected one.</p><p>Lucifer didn’t have any faith left in your father. He talked about abandonment, about the atrocities your father let happen. He spoke of an unfathomable cruelty and undeniable destiny.</p><p>You didn’t believe that.</p><p>No matter how bad things got, you couldn’t believe it.</p><p>There had to be some explanation, some rationalization of it all.</p><p>Whatever it was though, you would be the last to know. If your father didn’t even want you, he wouldn’t want to give you an explanation that he hadn’t even given his other children.</p><p>Tears were beginning to blur your vision, your phone burning in your back pocket. You should answer Lucifer. Your actual father may not be around, but you did have a dad, and at the very least he deserved an explanation.</p><p>“I just want to know who I am,” you quietly confessed to the empty room.</p><p>You took a moment to wipe away your tears and calm your breathing. Just as you moved to stand up, a person beside you cleared their throat politely.</p><p>He looked vaguely familiar, with his auburn hair and pressed suit. It wasn’t until you spotted the umbrella he twirled in his hand habitually that you realized who it was. John had told you all about Mycroft Holmes, and how you should expect him to pay you a visit just for breathing the same air as his younger brother.</p><p>“Oh, hello, didn’t see you there,” you admitted, smiling warmly at him.</p><p>The little you knew about the man in front of you caused a soft affection to bubble inside. You loved your family, and you could understand that desire to protect them. Even if he went about it in an odd way, you couldn’t blame the man for his vigilant nature.</p><p>“Miss Morningstar,” he greeted, the thin curve of his lips little more than an intimidation tactic, though he looked considerably charmed by your behavior, as did practically all humans. “I have a proposition for you, though I do apologize for disturbing you at a place of worship.”</p><p>You swallowed, briefly flicking your gaze to the cross.</p><p>“I’d say it hardly deserves worship,” you replied, inclining your head towards him. “Are you a man of faith?”</p><p>He raised a brow at your apparent disinterest in religion, despite your choice to retreat inside an old church. There was a certain amount of amusement in his brow, likely due to the question.</p><p>“Not particularly, no,” he answered cordially, but without much interest. “I consider myself a man of science.”</p><p>“Science,” you echoed, a fragment of a smile. “You believe science and faith can’t coexist?”</p><p>For one reason or another, he actually considered your argument. You knew it was likely a ploy to further his own business, but you found yourself innately curious about the man beside you. Most of what you knew of Sherlock came from John, and if there was a reason why he seemed to be immune to the divinity you exuded, you’d like to learn a little more.</p><p>“Faith is an explanation for what science can’t yet determine.”</p><p>His words were precise, and sure, as if there was nothing you could do to shake that determination. You paused thoughtfully, turning so that you might fully face him now. There was a glisten of veneration in his eyes, an unconscious acknowledgment to the river of divinity that flowed through your veins.</p><p>“Your proposition?”</p><p>You interruption was met with a continued cessation, followed by a diverted gaze.</p><p>“Information,” he claimed, leaning back to create an air of detachment. “Your recent neighbor, Sherlock.”</p><p>You waved off the rest of his proposal, not bothering to listen.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>His eyes narrowed a fraction, dangerous calculations swirling inside his mind as he scoured every detail on your person.</p><p>“So quick to align yourself without hearing how much I’ll offer you.”</p><p>You stood up, tilting your head curiously.</p><p>“If you want information on your brother, you could always just ask him, Mycroft.”</p><p>There was a momentary spark of confusion, or perhaps annoyance, in his stare, but you paid it no mind as you left without a further goodbye.</p><p>The sun was a blinding contrast to the dark building you were in before, but you found yourself comforted by its overwhelming presence. Your eyes shut on their own accord as you felt the heat seep into your soul. Before Lucifer returned to Earth, you had been in Hell with him. You hated it there. A part of you had always longed for the sun and the warmth it rained down upon mankind. In your youth, Lucifer took to calling you ‘sunshine’ and it had stuck with you through the years.</p><p>You knew, standing under the bright rays of the star, that you could never return to Hell again. Something in your veins longed for the sun, and the divine power that coursed through your system seemed to swell with its embrace.</p><p>Your thoughts were shattered as a body collided with yours, sending you stumbling a couple of steps by the sudden, unexpected intrusion. There was a moment, less than a fraction of a second, where your connection to the supernatural world was shifted.</p><p>“I am so sorry, I-”</p><p>Surprise stopped your words as you met the eyes of the man who ran into you. His gaze was unnatural, a color darker than night. They looked like the depths of Hell frozen over. A smile painted his face, one of cruelty and unspoken horror. His hands were icy where they held you in place, one on your shoulder and the other on your arm. You stood frozen to the spot, whispered tendrils beckoning you to the precipice of madness.</p><p>You nearly followed, to a destiny unknown and a journey fraught with danger. The presence was familiar, and much too comfortable. An evil lurked beneath his cool exterior, chilling the very air you breathed. </p><p>Still, you were entranced by the muted lunacy. </p><p>As you began to take the first step towards instability, you paused, a heat flaring up along your spine, to the base of where your wings stayed hidden. A claw gripped your throat, forcing fire down into your chest to wash away the sins of your thoughts.</p><p>As quick as the encounter began, it ended. You gasped for air, finding relief against John a minute later when he worriedly took a hold of your arm.</p><p>“Are you okay?” John asked, concern tinting his voice as he rubbed your back in the event you might have trouble catching your breath once more.</p><p>Sherlock was quick to look you up and down, tracing any details he might need.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>The black eyes flashed in your mind. This wasn’t an issue you could take to the two of them. Whatever happened was something more in your realm than theirs.</p><p>“Nothing,” you assured them, “Someone in a rush.”</p><p>Your smile was every bit as convincing as you could make it, hiding the image of blackened eyes and a searing pain along your collar.</p><p>Sherlock wished he could believe the lie you tried to sell, but curiosity got the best of him, and he would discover the truth without your help, as it seems.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re not fooling anyone,” John muttered, watching his friend from the doorway.</p><p>He’d been standing there for the past few minutes, waiting for Sherlock to acknowledge him. It really didn’t come as a surprise when he didn’t, but John figured he’d take the opportunity to study Sherlock.</p><p>The good doctor certainly wasn’t as perceptive as Sherlock. He would never claim to be. He did, however, believe himself to be rather smart, especially on the subject of human feelings. Now, John was not an idiot when it came to Sherlock, and he could tell that his best friend was very much becoming obsessive in his effort to solve whatever mystery he seemed to think revolved around you.</p><p>There were certainly some things that made you special, but you were rather open about your past and your own thoughts. It was actually a bit frustrating to John that Sherlock was so concerned about learning everything there was to know about you, yet he hadn’t just asked you. Mycroft had been a bit miffed about his interaction with you the day before, and had been around first thing in the morning to complain about it.</p><p>John found it rather funny how put out the elder Holmes brother had been, but he noticed the telltale glint in his eyes. As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew that Mycroft had fallen victim to your charms just as every other person he’d encountered had.</p><p>“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Sherlock huffed, slipping his coat on while he stared out of the window.</p><p>John blew a sigh from his lips, wondering how somebody so incredibly smart could be so blind to their own emotions at the same time.</p><p>“Why don’t you ask her on a date, Sherlock?”</p><p>He’d never seen Sherlock’s head whip around so quickly. The man looked terrified, which, to be fair, wasn’t far off the mark. Sherlock’s heart pounded against his ribs, a strange reaction to such a mundane suggestion, to be sure. He sputtered for a moment, unsure if he should be angry or appalled.</p><p>He settled for some weird combination of the two.</p><p>“I don’t date, John,” he spat rather forcefully, “Especially not-”</p><p>“John!” You called in greeting, taking the stairs two at a time.</p><p>The smile on your face was radiant, and Sherlock glared down at his own chest when the rhythmic beating of his heart only seemed to speed up. You were holding your phone to your ear still, a muffled voice talking from the other end. </p><p>“Sherlock,” you greeted, “Hi.”</p><p>He pulled his lips into a smile, but continued to study your every move.</p><p>“Yes, yes,” you replied to whoever was on the other end of the phone, “I’m perfectl-”</p><p>You frowned at the phone briefly, before a rather embarrassed, yet fond, smile replaced it.</p><p>“Dad, stop worrying so much,” you breathed out a laugh. “I have to go.”</p><p>There was more talking on the other end, which you were incapable of stopping, before you finally hurried out an, “I love you too,” and hung up.</p><p>“Sorry, he worries too much,” you explained to your friends, slipping your phone into your back pocket as you approached John.</p><p>There was no hesitation as the two of you embraced in a brief hug. Sherlock found himself pouting- no, not pouting, he doesn’t do that- at the apparent familiarity between you and John. Obviously, you were both comfortable with one another. He squinted his eyes, trying to decipher if it was a friendly comfort or a romantic one.</p><p>“Maybe he should,” John teased with a smile, “You did walk towards the man with the gun, rather than away.”</p><p>The two of you shared a little laugh, amplifying Sherlock’s sudden uneasiness at the thought of there being some sort of romantic involvement written between the lines of your exchanges.</p><p>But why would John suggest that he ask you on a date if he was interested?</p><p>This, he acknowledged with some amount of annoyance, was the exact reason why he despised human connections. How was he expected to just read your intentions and John’s intentions and his own intentions?</p><p>“Hey, did you want something too?” You inquired, suddenly a lot closer to Sherlock than you’d been previously.</p><p>He blinked, caught off guard by your change in position. Clearly, he’d been inside his own head for too long again.</p><p>A few deductions paired with his piercing gaze was all it took for him to realize that you were referring to food.</p><p>“I’ll have whatever you have.”</p><p>John didn’t need to examine the scene any further to realize it was another one of Sherlock’s ploys to understand you better. Of course his friend wasn’t going to normalize his strategy. He wanted to solve you, like a puzzle.</p><p>John hid his flash of annoyance as he ordered the takeout, trying to discover another way for Sherlock to realize that you might actually be good for him. Now, John wasn’t much of a matchmaker, but he thought the two of you would go rather perfectly together, and Mrs. Hudson agreed.</p><p>He just needed Sherlock to see that.</p><p>And maybe you too, since you didn’t seem like the type to just swoon over someone.</p><p>“I’m going to pick it up,” John announced, surprising even himself at the sudden declaration.</p><p>You stood up, obviously ready to escort him, but John shook his head. </p><p>“Keep Sherlock out of trouble,” John argued, nodding his direction to his flatmate. “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>There was a clear hesitation, like you didn’t think it was the courteous thing to do, but John brushed you off. He was going to make a stop to see Mrs. Hudson and have a quick chat about the two of you, the last thing he needed was you tagging along.</p><p>“Be safe!” You called out after him as he descended the stairs, waving a hand goodbye.</p><p>“Are you engaging in romantic affairs with John?” The question was fired in your direction the minute John was out of earshot.</p><p>You opened your mouth, then closed it again, your head tilting to the side at the strange turn of events.</p><p>“I-what?” You fumbled for the correct words, giggling a little as you did so. “No, John is just a friend.”</p><p>Sherlock hummed, not entirely convinced as he looked you over. His mind was moving a mile a minute, categorizing each piece of information he could discern from your person. It wasn’t a lot, but it was helping to build a more sturdy profile of who you were.</p><p>“Sherlock,” you interrupted, pressing your hand to his cheek.</p><p>His mind stopped.</p><p>Billions of neurons ceased fire, a momentary blip in their ever progressing task. It wasn’t like a sudden braking, where the tires screeched against the ground and the force of motion pushed the passengers forward with a potency capable of snapping necks. No, this was a total pause of everything that made Sherlock, Sherlock.</p><p>For just a fraction of a fraction, all he knew was the world being born in the fire of your eyes, and the spark created from the gentle warmth of your touch.</p><p>And then, it began again.</p><p>The world was spinning once more, his brain working just as it had before, only, tucked in the very back of his mind was the feeling of your hand on his cheek.</p><p>“What do you see when you deduce me?”</p><p>Your question was barely a whisper in the charged air between the magnetism of his mind and your heart.</p><p>“Contradictions,” he answered, staring directly into your gaze as he did so.</p><p>There was an echo of a smile on your lips, a brief upturn as you imagined how that might look. It was impossible to perceive the world through his mind, but you tried nonetheless.</p><p>“I feel like that’s not a good thing,” you joked, pulling your hand from his cheek and your eyes to your lap.</p><p>A coolness replaced your warmth, and Sherlock frowned as he filed that bit of information away.</p><p>“It makes you more interesting than most people,” he admitted on a murmur, watching with a bit of concern as you rubbed just above your heart.</p><p>The expression on your face was one of discomfort.</p><p>“How’d you hurt it?” He nodded where you were still positioning your hand, an attempt to shield the area from further harm.</p><p>You leveled him with a stare, not missing a beat.</p><p>“Sex,” you replied. “Got a bit more rough than expected.”</p><p>“You’re lying,” he tried, narrowing his eyes as he stared at the spot you were injured in, like if he did so for long enough he might be able to actually figure it out.</p><p>“Am I?” Your face betrayed nothing, a faux innocence in your gaze.</p><p>“What was his name?” Sherlock challenged.</p><p>“Who said anything about a man?” You shot back, rising to the provocation he posed.</p><p>“How’d it happen?”</p><p>“You want all of the intimate details?” You tsked, running your tongue along your teeth. “Sherlock Holmes, you are a surprise.”</p><p>His lips turned up for a moment.</p><p>“You are an excellent liar.”</p><p>You maintained eye contact from beneath your lashes, shrugging your shoulders.</p><p>“I’m a bit more like my uncle than I like to give myself credit for.”</p><p>The rest of the wait for John was spent in silence as you continued to observe one another- you with an air of disinterest and Sherlock with an eagerness he could barely contain. It seemed the more he learned about you, the more questions he had.</p><p>John looked less than pleased when he entered the room to find you guys were not, in fact, making out on the couch like horny teenagers.</p><p>“John!” You perked up, breathing in the smell of warm takeout.</p><p>“You’re a life saver,” you moaned, causing Sherlock’s hand to twitch at the sinful noise.</p><p>The tips of John’s ears turned red, but he didn’t comment on it as he laid a spread of food on the table.</p><p>“I hope everyone’s hungry,” he said, gesturing to the food, “I ordered a bit too much.”</p><p>“I can’t believe I missed out on this for so long,” you commented, twirling a pile of steaming vegetable lo mein on your fork before you even sat down.</p><p>“Was your dad not a fan of it?” John asked, taking a seat by your side as he grabbed himself a plate.</p><p>Sherlock still hadn’t gotten up from his spot in his chair, but he was attentive to the conversation between John and you.</p><p>“Oh, uh, it wasn’t really something we did when I was younger,” you explained, not giving a lot of detail, but not outright lying either.</p><p>Sherlock frowned. You had never really told John a lie. Actually, you hadn’t really told anyone a lie, besides him, and even that was something you admitted to right away.</p><p>He hesitantly filed away the belief that you were an honest person in the special place reserved for facts about you as he stood up to join the two of you.</p><p>From there on, Sherlock was more of an active participant in the chatting, though he didn’t find it nearly as dreadful as he thought it would be. John was all too happy to have him joining in, still rather put out that his plan hadn’t panned out the way he was hoping.</p><p>Though, before he came back up the stairs with the food, Mrs. Hudson had assured him that there was no way that Sherlock Holmes and (Y/N) Morningstar wouldn’t inevitably gravitate towards one another.</p><p>And who could argue with Mrs. Hudson’s intuition?</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>